


when we're old

by somalester



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Growing Old Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somalester/pseuds/somalester
Summary: I'm not afraid to grow old if I have your hand to holdOr: Tony gets old, and the serum prevents Steve from doing the same.





	when we're old

**Author's Note:**

> the title and summary are from the song "When we're old" by Ieva Zasimauskaitė, which I recommend listening to

When they kiss for the first time, it’s just after the battle of New York. They’re on the Tricarrier, still roughed up from the fight, and apparently Steve’s shaken enough to forget that Tony’s not someone he’s supposed to like. 

 

They kind of go from there.

 

What Tony believes for a long time to be their last kiss is in Siberia, just before - 

 _Did you know?_  
_Yes._

There was no coming back from that, now was there?

 

Their first kiss after Siberia is years later, after they’ve kicked Thanos’ ass and reversed The Snap. After Tony started to heal from the horrible emptiness the events on Titan had left him with.

What follows after is, well, almost scarily domestic.

* * *

 From the very first day, Steve’s been disgustingly sweet to him. Wrapped his arms around him in bed, brought him roses from his morning runs, kissed him on the forehead and smiled that wondering smile, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. (Ridiculous.)

Maybe that’s why it takes them so long to come back from the Accords. 

Steve is afraid of hurting him again, and Tony still feels the shield break the arc reactor in his suit. 

It fades into background noise. Gradually, but it does, and Steve becomes all the more tender for it. Kisses on the forehead, gently stroking Tony’s skin, roses, the works.

It’s like Tony’s taken a wrong turn in his life and ended up in some corny romance movie, that’s how sappy it gets. But he doesn’t tell Steve that, because he can tell it makes him happy. And it makes Tony happy too, in a way he’s never felt before.

 _Happiness_ , it’s is one of the two things he was so sure about never experiencing in his life that he never even dared to dream of it; with the other one being peace. 

And now it’s right in front of him, slowly being strung together by his boyfriend’s loving touch.

Tony doesn’t know if Steve knows that, or if he’s trying his level best to make their relationship as cheesy and perfect as possible because that’s just the kind of good person he is.

They slip into a routine, but it never ever gets boring.

* * *

 They’re about five years into this, five years _After_ , at least, and because since Tony avoids thinking about Siberia and Thanos and Titan, that’s what counts.

In the morning, when Steve approaches him with a bashful expression on his face and asks if he’s free for dinner, it throws Tony in for a loop. 

More so because Steve’s loving but shy smiles still make his knees weak than actual surprise, but it does make him wonder. 

Steve’s nervous. Steve isn’t nervous around him anymore. Careful and attentive as he’s always been, yes, but never nervous.

(Steve’s been his boyfriend for too long for Tony work himself into a frenzy over minor things, so, being Tony Stark, he does it anyway.)

When the sun begins to set, Steve’s waiting for him, in a dark suit and bow-tie, his hair neatly combed and he kisses Tony on the cheek. 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve tells him.

Tony doesn’t know whether to feel worried or just so stupidly, madly in love that it drowns out everything else.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” Tony quips, because that’s what he _does_ , but Steve smiles at him as if he’s bared his entire heart. 

Steve drives the car himself, even though Tony could effortlessly acquire a chauffeur for them, because it’s more personal like this - or so he says. 

They stop at a small but cozy Italian restaurant that they’ve been to a few times. Tony likes it; the employees are very discreet, and the food is to die for. 

It brings his thoughts back to the question what sort of anniversary he missed. 

Steve places a hand on the small of Tony’s back when they walk up the stone steps to the door. A waiter greets them and sees them to their table immediately; apparently Steve’s been planning this. 

Tony gets risotto and Steve orders pasta, then proceeds to sneak these weird, almost shy glances at him. 

The waiter brings them sparkling water - because Tony’s trying to stop drinking, and the pride shining in Steve’s eyes is worth it. 

As soon as the glass is set down in front of them, Steve grips it with both hands, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

Tony squints at him. “Steve? What’s going on?”

Steve sighs, looks at him, unclamps his hands from the glass. 

Tony stares at him, and that’s when Steve suddenly gets up from his chair, makes a step towards Tony and takes both of his calloused hands in his. 

“Tony,” he says. His voice is so heavy that Tony doesn’t dare to interrupt him. 

“I know it took us a while to get along at first -”

(Steve sounds exactly like he did when he asked Tony out that very first time.)

“And I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I hurt you.”

(They haven’t talked about this in years.)

“But you gave me a home, and there’s nobody else I want to share it with.”

(Steve told him, once, how lost he’d felt in his new century. How Tony had given him a place to belong to.)

“The past five years have been the happiest of my life, and I’m so glad we got to have a second chance.”

(Okay, what?)

“I love you, Tony. Will you marry me?”

( ... )

Tony blinks. 

Steve has gone down on one knee, and is currently looking at him as if Tony is about to deliver his death sentence.

Which is ridiculous. The guy wants to marry him after all. 

(They’re going to get _married_.)

A smile spreads on Tony’s face, almost on its own accord. He tries to leave his chair, but his shaking knees give out on him, and he falls right into Steve’s arms, whispering his _Yes_  into his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

When the weather is decent, the first rays of sun fall into their bedroom every morning and paint the room in a beautiful, warm light. 

Tony always complains about Steve getting up “at the ass-crack of dawn”, but it’s a habit he can’t shake. Especially since he regularly gets to watch his gorgeous husband sleep during sunrise.

It’s barely been a few weeks, and it still feels surreal, the fact that he’s married now. 

I didn’t seem like something that would ever happen to him, Steve Rogers, the slim, sickly boy from Brooklyn that was barely able to talk to a dame. 

He’d always dream though, of someone smart and witty, who’d be able to hold their own, but wouldn’t mind letting Steve take care of them once in a while.

(Of course, he hadn’t dared to wish for a fella, back then.) 

Steve lets his hands tousle in Tony’s hair and smiles. 

It’s moments like these in which he comes back to thinking about how lucky he is. 

Tony’s face scrunches up adorably. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs drowsily. 

Steve tugs him closer to his chest. “I love you.”

Tony huffs. “I love you too.”

The sun makes the ring on Steve’s right hand glitter.

* * *

It’s slow and subtle, but Steve notices.

Of course he does. These days, he always spends the better part of the day looking at Tony, he’s bound to see changes. 

There are grey streaks in his hair now, as well as in his beard. His eyes are lined with wrinkles, and he’s started to complain about pain in his back. 

Tony is getting _old_.

Steve adores it, really; the chances of Tony getting to live that long were astronomically small, and yet, he’s right by Steve’s side, every day. It’s proof that his life has finally taken a turn for the better. 

So yeah, Steve loves seeing Tony’s wrinkles deepen and his hair turn gray, but he has the increasing suspicion that his husband wouldn’t agree with him. 

It’s small things; the way Tony gets increasingly frustrated with his back, the hair coloring that one day appears in their bathroom. Steve lets it slide, mostly because he knows Tony won’t appreciate Steve pointing it out. 

But then, in the evening , when they’re both laying in bed, sated and sweaty, that changes. Steve’s always found Tony beautiful when he’s relaxed like this, and tells him as much, just like he’s done a thousand times before. 

But Tony sighs and murmurs, “I don’t deserve you, you know?”

Steve frowns. “Sweetheart-”

“I’m _old_ , Steve!”

Steve looks at Tony and can’t help but feel dismay. They’d worked long and hard for Tony’s self-esteem to get better; Steve shouldn’t have let this get so far. 

“You’re getting more beautiful each day,” he says. 

Tony snorts. “Did you hit your head this morning?”

He’s back to joking already, but Steve isn’t. 

“It’s okay that you’re getting older, Tony. I would never think less of you for it.”

Tony grumbles and hides his face in Steve’s chest. He’s avoiding the conversation, but that’s okay. Steve will just tell him how stunning he is that much more often now.

* * *

In hindsight, Steve should’ve seen it coming. Hell, they both should’ve seen it coming. 

(Well, technically Tony did see it coming. He just conveniently neglected to tell Steve.)

It’s late afternoon and they’re in one of their private training rooms. 

Tony hasn’t actively been Iron-Man in years, but he still insists on regular training sessions. Steve’s happy to indulge him - sport is good for Tony’s health after all. 

Or so he thought, up until that day. 

They’re sparring without weapons, just attacking and dodging like they’ve done every other day before.

And then, Tony falls. It happens so fast Steve doesn’t even know _what_ exactly happens, but it makes his heart slam in his chest like mad. 

He’s on his husband’s side in under a second.

“Tony?”

Tony’s eyes are still open - thank god for that - and he’s staring at Steve while taking rapid, uneven breaths. 

It almost looks like a panic attack, if not for the way Tony outright _collapsed_.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Steve urges, because he needs to know what happened, now, or he won’t be able to help.

But Tony just shakes his head, reaches out for him, and Steve takes him into his arms. 

Gradually, Tony’s breathing levels and he stops shivering. 

“What was that?” Steve asks, fear making his voice tight.

“I don’t know,” Tony rasps, and that’s when Steve knows that this is bad. 

They go to the hospital on the same day, on Steve’s insistence. ( _“I’m fine”_ Tony had said, honestly, he’s married to a complete moron.)

It’s one of the few time he’s honestly glad that Tony is as rich as he is; this way, they don’t have to wait as long to get appointed to a doctor. 

Still, it’s hell, the wait. 

With injuries on the battlefield Steve has always been able to deal; it’s something tangible, and he’s experienced enough to gauge the seriousness of the situation and take action accordingly.

But here, in this pristine white room, he can’t do anything else than holding Tony’s hand in his.

The doctor has Tony describe what happened, who does as he’s asked without hesitation. 

“Steve and I were training. I felt exhausted and dizzy, and then suddenly I couldn’t breathe and legs just gave out on me.”

Steve shivers at the memory. It’s like they’re debriefing the attack of an invisible alien. 

The doctor doesn’t tell them much, just listens in on Tony’s heartbeat and breathing, frowns at it, takes his blood pressure, frowns again. Then, after putting his stethoscope away, he looks at Tony, who’s still sitting on the examination table and asks, “How long have you been having these symptoms?”

Steve’s blood goes cold.

Tony doesn’t look at him.

“It’s been two months, I think,” Steve’s husband answers, flatly. “It was just shortness of breath at first, but I’ve been feeling more exhausted the last couple of weeks.”

The doctor just nods. For all that Tony’s reassured Steve that he’s one of the best in America, his mask of professionalism gives nothing away.

“I’ll need to do some blood tests,” he says, so friendly it almost makes Steve want to shake him. “If you would roll up your sleeve, please?”

The doctor draws some blood from Tony’s right arm, then leaves them to get it tested. 

The silence is heavy and thick, and Steve wants to be mad at Tony, but he can’t. He’s been with him for too long. The only thing he’s able to feel is sadness.

“Two months, Tony,” is what, after a few minutes, finally comes out of Steve’s mouth. “Why?”

Tony sighs, and for all it’s worth, it sounds tired. “I’ve always had a weak heart, Steve. I didn’t think it was this serious.”

Steve’s hands curl into fists. “You shouldn’t be hiding these things from me either way.”

Finally, Tony turns and looks at him. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Steve sighs. “I know.”

He knows, and he hates it. 

They sit in silence, in horrible, tense silence, while Steve thinks about the fact that Tony could’ve died without him even knowing there was anything wrong. 

A few minutes later, the door opens. 

His eyes travel from Tony to Steve and back, but he doesn’t comment on the strained mood between them and simply starts to explain what he’s found. 

Steve listens as closely as he can, but he also tries to drown the words out. 

High blood pressure. Damages to veins and arteries. Weakening of his heart, and subsequently the shortness of breath and exhaustion. 

“It’s called arteriosclerosis,” the doctor explains. “It can be a late effect of excessive alcohol consumption.”

This time, it’s Steve who can’t look at Tony. Can’t look at him while the doctor explains that there’s little they can do except bring the blood pressure down, can’t look at him while he also explains that this will raise the risk of a heart attack. 

The drive back home is silent, for the most part.

Steve thinks of how Tony was pushed into alcohol, was strong enough to quit anyhow, and is still paying for it, decades later, and he wants to punch someone. 

Finally, Tony smiles a crooked smile and says, “Well, I guess that’s the last gift my father’s giving me.”

Steve doesn’t yell at Tony, but it’s a near thing.

* * *

They don’t talk about it.

Of course they don’t.

They go about their day and Tony takes medication for his blood pressure and his heart, and Steve is even more strict about a decent sleeping schedule, but they don’t talk about it. 

And Tony might be dying, or he might not be, depending on how much his heart can still take, and there’s no way anyone could predict that. 

It’s an invisible thing, that can hide from Steve’s eye and it doesn’t give a shit that Tony doesn’t deserve this. 

In his dreams, Steve keeps seeing Tony collapse in front of him, clutching at his chest in a vain attempt to get his heart beating again. He wakes up with heaving breaths and tightens his arms around Tony, as if that could change anything.

In real life, Tony gets out of breath easily while walking up the stairs, his heart starts beating too quickly and he has to sit down for a while. Steve then wonders how often Tony hid that from him, and feels like throwing up. 

He doesn’t look into mirrors much anymore. He doesn’t want to see the young man staring back at him; a man who’s barely gotten a scratch from the years that went by, while his husband got that and so much more. 

Some of these days, Steve hates the serum. It’s pulsing through his veins and makes twenty years feel like five to his body, while Tony’s blood has turned against him. 

It’s like they’re going in different directions, and there’s nothing Steve can do to about it. 

Sometimes, Tony looks at him and there’s pity in his eyes.

* * *

It’s Tony’s 68th birthday, and Steve never leaves Tony’s side. 

He brings him breakfast in bed, complete with a cake and candles, cuddles him and doesn’t complain when Tony suggests to watch _Star Trek_. They go out to eat in the evening, back to that small, Italian restaurant in which Steve had asked Tony to marry him. 

They’re in good spirits when they get back home, Tony’s skipping up the stairs with a happy look on his face and Steve allows it because he can’t bring himself to deny Tony on his birthday.

He gets out of breath - of course he does - and has to sit down at the top of the stairwell, shaking. Steve sits down next to him, wraps his arms around his husband and holds him, because there’s nothing else he can do.

As soon as it passes, Tony’s up and acting like it didn’t even happen, and it feels like Steve’s chest is physically breaking in two.

He must have more difficulties to hide it than he normally does, because when they’re getting ready for bed, Tony turns to him and says “Stop looking like you’ve run over my nonexistent puppy.”

Steve flinches, and Tony looks apologetic, but apparently not enough to take it back. 

“You’re sick, Tony,” is what comes out of Steve’s mouth before his brain can remind him of the fact that they’re unofficially officially not talking about that. 

But Tony just raises his eyebrows. “So I’ve been told.”

Steve tries and fails to find an answer to that. He collapses on their bed instead and hides his head in his hands. 

A few seconds later, he feels the tentative touch of Tony’s fingers on his shoulder. 

“Steve?”

Steve lets his hands drop to his lap, but can’t quite bring himself to look at Tony. 

“You’re sick,” he repeats, because there’s nothing else he knows in that moment. 

The mattress dips as Tony sits down next to him. 

“Yeah, I am.”

It’s a quiet admission.

“The doctors can’t help you.”

Tony breathes in deeply. “I know.”

Steve turns and cups Tony’s cheek in his palm. 

Tony looks at him, calmly and full of love. 

“How are you feeling?”

Tony smiles. “Better than I did on the stairs.”

Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean physically.”

For a while, Tony just looks at him. 

Then, Tony takes Steve’s hand in his. “Do you remember when I told you about the palladium poisoning?” 

Steve frowns. “Of course.”

Tony looks down to where their hands are touching. “I was terrified, back then.”

Steve squeezes his hand, lets him know he’s there without interrupting him. Tony takes a few seconds to respond, and the air grows heavier between them.

“But I know I’m not alone this time.”

Tony smiles at him, and it’s as sad as it is loving. 

“I’m not scared, Steve.”

And that makes the horrible feeling in Steve’s chest unclench a little, at the knowledge that he _can_ help Tony, even if it’s something as little as this.

Tony’s not scared, because of him. 

But Steve, well, Steve very much is.

* * *

It happens suddenly, and without warning. 

It’s the middle of the night, and they’re on their way to bed, when Tony stops dead in his tracks and folds over. 

Steve’s at his side in under a second, like he’s done way too often in the last months. 

Tony raises his head, clutching at his chest with both of his hands.

“Steve,” he says, way too calmly. “Hospital, now.”

Steve’s hands are shaking. Tony’s looking at him with a firmness that makes his blood run cold. And he feels fucking _helpless_ , because there’s nothing he can really do; the fear won’t even let him move his mouth to talk. 

“Emergency Services have been contacted,” FRIDAY informs them. 

“Steve?” Tony looks at him carefully, as if _Steve’s_ the one who -

“I love you,” Steve chokes out. He gathers Tony into his hands and carries him down the stairs as fast as he dares to, murmuring reassurances, promises, begs.

Tony responds with pained groans and whimpers, and Steve holds him even tighter to his chest. 

When Steve wrenches the door open and steps outside, Tony starts to convulse. His muscles spasm, his entire body is wracked with cramps so severe Steve can barely keep his hold on him. 

There’s a thin layer of sweat on Tony’s face and his eyes are closed, which at least means he can’t see the tear tracks on Steve’s cheeks.  
Just a few seconds later, the ambulance barrels around the corner.

* * *

A clock is steadily ticking in the corner of the room. 

The heart monitor next to Tony’s bed is beeping rhythmically.

Tony’s eyes are closed, his face ashen. He’s breathing peacefully. 

The doctors are saying Tony’s brain shut down because of the lack of oxygen. They’re also saying his heart won’t keep him alive for much longer.

A few hours, at the most. 

It’s been seven since he’s been let in to be at Tony’s side, and his husband is stubbornly proving the doctors wrong once more. 

They say people in comas are aware of their surroundings. 

At first, Steve hadn’t been able to talk. There was a weight as heavy as a boulder on his chest, and the only sound he was able to make were small, choked off sobs.

Just last evening, _last evening_ , they’d been on the couch laughing at one of Tony’s terrible puns, and now they were here.

Only one of them would walk out of this room. And even though they’d both been aware of the risk of a heart attack the entire time, Steve still felt as unprepared as he did the day Tony first collapsed in front of him. 

As time progressed, he kept thinking about the night of Tony’s last birthday.

_“I’m not scared, Steve.”_

Steve wondered if that was still the case, and his lungs constricted even more at the thought of Tony suffering through this. 

That’s what gave him the strength to talk.

He started simple, with reassurances. 

_“I’m here, Tony. You’re not alone.”_

He then walked him through what the doctors told him, so that Tony would know what’s going on. 

_“They said your heart won’t recover from this. You’ve only got a few hours left. I’m so sorry.”_

(He was pretty sure Tony would’ve told him to stop the apologies if he could have, but as it was, he wouldn’t ever do that again.)

From then on, it was mostly a mix of affection and grief, but Steve tried to not let it show. If Tony really did hear him, he didn’t want to worry him. 

(Even though his heart was screaming and there was an empty void in front of him whenever he imagined a life without his husband.)

_“I love you so much. I’m not going to leave you, so don’t you worry about that.”_

_“Hey, remember the day I proposed to you? You looked so beautiful in that suit.”_

_“God, I’m going to miss you.”_

_“... Please, just ... just don’t -”_

(Don’t go, is what he wanted to say, but the words get stuck in his throat.)

It’s ironic, really, that this is the ending neither of them even dreamed of having, because it seemed too unrealistic to hope for, but now it hurts that much more. 

Whenever one of the nurses comes to check on Tony, they tell him to go home, to get some rest, there’s no way of knowing how long it’s going to take. 

Steve doesn’t move. It feels like it’d rip his heart right out if he were to leave Tony. 

It’s a whole twelve hours after the doctor gave him three, that Tony’s fight is over. 

When the monitor flatlines, it feels like the noise is cutting right through Steve’s heart. 

He feels Tony getting ripped away from him and there’s nothing he can do except sit there and hope that Tony really wasn’t scared, that Tony didn’t lie to him. 

He wants to scream.

But he doesn’t. 

He sits there and cries, and he knows that at least Tony’s not in pain anymore, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.

* * *

_Tony Stark_

_29.05.1970 - 24.04.2039_  
_Genius. Billionaire. Husband. Philanthropist._

 

Tony’s buried next to his mother. Steve made sure of that.

He visits almost every day, for months.

In his bedroom, the sheets still smell like Tony, and here, the stone meets his despair with cold silence.

Steve’s stuck in a limbo, and everywhere he turns, Tony’s there, in one way or the other. 

He’s trying to get into a healthier routine, because he knows Tony wouldn’t have wanted him to fall apart like this. 

It’s working, too. Or, at least he’s going on his morning runs again, he’s picked up drawing and he only returns to the cemetery every other week. He smiles, now and then, but his heart still feels empty and cold because of how big a part of it is missing. 

Steve wonders what he’s supposed to call home now.


End file.
